


it's always you

by Magali_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Always a Happy Ending, Dany on top, Dirty Talk, Ex Sex, F/M, Face-Fucking, Finger Fucking, Fluff and Smut, Jon Snow Has Issues, Kink, Light Bondage, Masturbation, No Plot/Plotless, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sexting, Smut, Weddings, You're warned, and the messy beans lived happily ever after!, jonerys kinkfest, many tropes, more kinkfest, pun intended, so does Dany, this is straight porn, tie up Jon, wink wink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:47:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24026092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: At his cousin’s wedding, Jon Snow is bored and sees his ex-girlfriend Daenerys Targaryen on the arm of another.  He's in the mood for some games, but as it happens so is she...or are they just kidding themselves?Written for Tumblr's Jonerys Kinkfest.**Tags updated with each new chapter so double check before reading.**
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow/Ygritte (past), Yara Greyjoy/Daenerys Targaryen (brief)
Comments: 192
Kudos: 577





	1. teasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At his cousin's wedding Jon runs into his ex, but things are definitely not over between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me start by saying I didn't intend to participate in the Jonerys Kinkfest and then I had this idea and went with it. It really started with the power couple of Yara and Dany and how fun it would have been to have them a couple at some point-- Dany is canonically bisexual in the books and I just liked their chemistry, but figured there could also be some fun female friendship.
> 
> Then this kind of came out of that, also I like Jon as an absolute mess. That boy has so many issues around women, sex, identity, family, etc. it's a wonder even in the books he's still functioning. 
> 
> So here's some plotless smut, enjoy!

Jon was fucking _bored._

He was bored, he was slightly drunk, craving a cigarette—except he’d quit about ten times that month already—not to mention he was pissed. Like _really_ pissed. No, pissed wasn’t a good enough word for it. He was livid. Furious. Irate. Look up the word ‘angry’ in a thesaurus and he was all those various synonyms. He should know, he was a writer. Well, most of the time he was a writer.

Right now he was pseudo-friend of the groom and cousin of the bride, leaning against an open set of doors to the large balcony at the Red Keep, about to make his escape before the party really started, because if he was this fuzzy from alcohol now, he was terrified for what might happen to his liver if he stayed through the cake-cutting and the send-off of the happy couple on their honeymoon. He sniffed at the gaudy decorations—Sansa just wanted to show to everyone how rich the Starks were. Her way of digging it in to her sorority sisters and reminding her _madame_ as Jon called her, Cersei Lannister, that she was no longer the little bird learning at Cersei’s knee how to manipulate and destroy people.

He had no idea what Theon saw in Sansa, but whatever it was, good for him for finding someone to take his lecherous ass. Robb had been positive that Theon would end up a bachelor for life and here they were at his wedding. Jon really didn’t care, he was here because if he didn’t show his face his family would hunt him down and bother him for a century, needling him about _whyyyy_ didn’t he come and didn’t he _looooove_ them and what about the _paaaaaack_.

_Fuck the pack._

_Gods I need a cigarette._

He scanned the room, gray eyes sharp and observant, always observant. Had to be, growing up the bastard nephew of the good and pure Ned Stark, avoiding the nasty sneers of his wife and the constant _you should be grateful he took you in_ from her circle of equally nasty friends. Jon had done his damndest to stay away from them all, watching on the sidelines, and now as an adult, he only joined in when he had to and only on his terms. If he did this, he didn’t have to see them again for months. Not until the holidays.

He had planned to go alone, drink his way through everything, sneaking shots with his cousin Arya who was the only one he could tolerate—he used to be able to handle Robb until Robb got married to a Sansa-clone who had a bigger brain and nastier mouth—and spent all his time now with her. Jon was going to make fun of the speeches with Arya, then they were going to find a way to cut into the cake before the actual ceremony just to hear Sansa’s screams. Anything to terrorize the bride.

Until he saw who came as the date of the groom’s sister.

And that's when he became pissed, angry, etcetera.

He did a good job of ignoring her. Until now.

Gray eyes landed on hers across the room, meeting the cool violet. She lifted her glass of champagne to her lips, the golden bubbles pouring smoothly between the pert pink lips around the rim. He shifted his weight on his feet, watching her tongue—nimble, lithe—dart out to lap at a drop of the drink from her upper lip. She smiled, dangerous, and set her glass down, before she turned to her date, leaning in and pressing a long kiss against Yara’s lips. He didn’t break away, knowing what she was doing. She broke away, Yara’s hand loose around her waist, before turning back to whomever she was speaking with beside her. With a whispered word to Yara, who waved her off, she stood, in one fluid motion, and sauntered towards him, holding the glass between her fingers.

The dress she wore should have been illegal.

If Arya hadn’t been in the ceremony as a bridesmaid, she had planned to wear white, just to upstage Sansa. It was good she didn’t, because the vision making her way towards him in the blood-red liquid silk had already done that the moment she’d stepped into the sept. It was soft, floaty, tied around her neck in an asymmetrical line, more of a necklace holding it up. It covered her front, barely teasing the sides of her perfect breasts and exposing the creamy expanse of her back, before it nipped at her waist, flowing out in layers of tulle over a short little skirt, her legs bare and teasing under the see-through material. Her delicate little feet were encased in sky-high platform heels, red as the dress.

The red itself teased darker shades here and there. The moment, the filter of the light through the material, all of it giving the impression she was on fire. It didn’t help that her silver hair was done up in a pretty little updo, her long neck a blank canvass for the giant starburst-like earrings that swayed from her earlobes. She had turned more than her fair share of heads, more than even Sansa had. It didn’t help that she was also with Theon’s sister, who the old bitches and codgers of the North still sneered at for being proudly lesbian.

“See you’re swinging the other direction these days,” he sang, as she approached him. He arched his brow. “Bored of the stick?”

“Oh Jon, you know Yara is an old friend. She called, needed a date, and I was happy to oblige.” Her tongue darted out again, before her crimson lips pulled over shiny white teeth. “How are you? I saw you earlier, but ah…I was busy.”

“Making out with Yara when Catelyn came in." Catleyn had almost had a stroke. Even Arya was pleased. "Congratulations, you have my thanks.” He really wanted her drink, so he reached for it, taking it from her hands and smirking at her surprised look. He drained the rest of the champagne, making a face. He always hated the swill. He passed her the glass, leaning in and whispering. “Saved me from having to do it.”

She set the glass on the tray of a passing waiter, before gripping the front of his black tux. He ignored Sansa’s request that all the Stark men wear gray ties and white shirts, keeping to his own colors. He grinned as they fell out of the massive room—it used to be one of the ballrooms of the Red Keep when it served as the castle of a king, but now only served as banquet facilities—onto the balcony. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

 _Having fun._ “I’m bored,” he protested.

“Oh go play with your little Northern friends why don’t you.” She hissed, snake-like. _Or dragon-like_. “I thought I saw your little redheaded cunt running around somewhere. She’s looking more and more like a bony twelve-year old boy each time I see her. Also, she needs to get to a dermatologist, her skin has a terrible ashy color.” She sniffed. “Too much time in the wind, I think.”

He grinned, long and slow, a growl of excitement rumbling in the back of his throat. “You’re jealous,” he murmured. His eyes dropped down to her lips, which were swollen now. Courtesy of the quick little bite she’d given them after her rant. He tsked. “Aw come on now Daenerys, surely you know the game by now?”

“And what game is that?”

“Sansa only brought her here to piss me off,” he said, rolling his eyes. Fucking bitch. The second he saw Ygritte on the invite list he’d wanted to beg off, but Arya said they’d have more fun torching the joint. Then she’d decided to go fuck around with her boyfriend Gendry, who hadn’t been planning on coming but then managed to move things around to attend. He could kill the man. His wingman in wedding destruction had disappeared. He glanced at Yara, who was putting moves on one of Sansa’s bridesmaids. He frowned. “Seems like your date might be doing the same thing. Surely you should go see to her?”

A quick glance sideways and she was waving her hand. “I’m here with Yara as friends.”

“You usually stick your tongue down friends’ throats?” _Yes._ Since that was how they began. Just friends. Who fucked. A lot. Until it became more. Then ended. In a cataclysmic fiery mess, like most things in his life.

Another smile. “Yara and I have been lovers, yes. You know this.”

“Hmm.”

She shrugged. “Anyways, I thought it might be fun to come. Like I said, torturing your stepmother and Sansa were always fun little things to do. We sure had our fair share of them, didn’t we?”

 _Fuck it._ Jon reached into the pocket of his tux, removing his e-cigarette cartridge. He sucked on the device, filling his lungs with probably more toxic smoke than his cigarettes, and the faint scent of strawberries. She took it from him and puffed for a second, before handing it back without a word. He looked her up and down. _Gods._ Time had been so good to her. It had been a few years. “How long has it been?” he casually asked.

At the same time, she spoke: “This song fucking sucks.”

Yes, it did. The D.J. was horrible. Nevertheless, Sansa and her little birds were dancing around while Robb and Theon drank with the rest of the groomsmen. It was just getting started, the chaos, he figured. Soon it would die down enough for the cake cutting, they’d smash each other’s faces into the confection, and then people would party some more. He was barely paying attention to the music. He squinted again, cocking his head. “So? How long has it been?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“I’m asking you… _Daenerys._ ”

Daenerys Targaryen, his ex-girlfriend, ex-lover, ex-best friend, all those titles, rolled up into one petite little package who could breathe fire if she felt like it. They had met when she was in college. He was in the military. She was protesting the treatment of the Free Folk. He’d arrested her when she tried to trespass on the Wall to hang massive signs from it. She’d propositioned him after she was let out of jail. He had been an angry, sullen teen with a chip on his shoulder and she was an angry, fiery teen with a chip on hers. For various reasons. He didn’t know what happened, but somehow they started seeing each other if only so they could argue over what the Night’s Watch was doing, how he was trying to help the Free Folk his way, and then soon they were fucking each other all day, every day.

He hadn’t seen her in two years.

Last he’d heard she was in Essos, engaged to some real-estate tycoon after a marriage to a horse rancher went to shit when he’d gotten thrown from his horse and broke his neck. It wasn’t like they were together all that time. They’d been off and on for years as their orbits crossed. He was writing a piece for a magazine about Dragonstone—suddenly she was there. She was in the North for a conference—how about that, he happened to be in town as well.

He pulled on the fake cigarette, arching his brows at her scowl. “Two years,” she mumbled.

“And here you are, at my sister’s wedding.”

“I told you, Yara invited me.”

“And you just _happened_ to come along?” He had no idea if she knew he’d be attending or not. If this was one of those times when their paths crossed. Or whatever the fuck. Except she was here.

And not one fucking thing had changed.

Dany glanced over his shoulder into the ballroom. The crowd was beginning to disperse. “I think it’s time for the cake-cutting,” she said, sniffing.

“And the father-daughter dance.”

“Doesn’t that come first?”

“Oh who knows? This whole thing makes no sense.” This entire wedding was insane and made no sense to him. Jon looked back into the Keep. He was supposed to go take his seat with the family that Sansa hated—her uncles the Blackfish and Edmure and infantile cousin Robin—but fuck that shit.

He had a different idea.

He definitely wasn’t bored anymore.

Dany didn’t say anything to him, flouncing back into the ballroom and over to take her seat next to Yara. He smirked and went over to one of the older women who was sitting on Dany’s side—Roslin Frey, her namecards said. “Excuse me,” he said, putting on the polite voice he had perfected as the bastard child. He lightly patted her shoulder and pointed to Edmure. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind switching seats with me, you see Edmure Tully was asking me about you and well, I think he might fancy you.”

Roslin tittered and instantly traded seats with him. Jon grinned, coming around just as the room quieted, with Robb taking the microphone to start the emceeing of the cake cutting and the first dances. He plopped in the chair right next to Dany, who had her hand entwined with Yara’s atop the table. “What are you doing here Snow?” Yara demanded, peering over suspiciously.

“Traded seats.”

“Why?” Dany snapped.

“No reason.” _All the reasons._

Robb started talking about being Sansa’s older brother, kind of giving another rendition of his best man speech from earlier. Half the things he were saying were total lies—no one liked Sansa except Catelyn and maybe Rickon because he had no reason at the time not to like her. Jon wondered where Arya had gone—her seat at the high table was empty and so was Gendry’s. He pushed them from his mind and sipped the champagne that a waiter and just set in front of him. He made a face; gods he wanted a whiskey.

No matter, he had to be clear-headed for what he planned to do.

With the quiet skill born of being a military man, he barely twitched his hand under the long gray tablecloth. The material was thick, falling in pools over their laps, as he leaned forward with one arm on the table and the other disappearing beneath the fabric. He danced his fingertips along the tulle-covered thigh beside him, finding the slit the panels made, and finally touched warm skin.

She jumped beside him, knocking one of the forks at her hand aside. Yara glanced at her. “You alright?”

“Fine,” Dany said, teeth grit. She glared sideways at him, but said nothing. Nor did she move. Or push his hand away. If anything, he watched her pupils widen and the violet irises disappear as they dilated. He barely glanced at her again, too busy focusing on what Robb was saying about the cake somehow representing the Northern mountains where Theon and Sansa fell in love. _Bullshit._

He traced little circles along her exposed thigh, moving up, teasing. She twitched under him, saying nothing, although her lips—those luscious red lips—parted and a soft exhale of breath slipped out. He dragged his index finger beneath the skirt, which pushed up over her thigh. She shifted beside him and her knee bumped his as she pulled her legs apart, giving him more room. He moved his fingers up to the seam of her panties only to discover…

Now it was his turn to twitch. _Fuck._

_No panties._

Now she smirked. He moved his chair a little closer and was grateful that their backs were to the wall, no one able to see what he was doing unless they really, really looked. If anything it appeared as though he were holding her around her arm, his hand lightly touching her knee, as some couples did affectionately. With the tablecloth obscuring them and some of her tulle already bunched up, no one had to know that his hand covered her bare mound, his palm rocking back and forth, the heel of his hand rubbing lightly over the top of her cunt, the slight pressure stimulating her covered little nub, which he already could feel standing at attention, eager for more.

Her hand instantly covered his, trying to still him, but he was not done. Fingers crept lower, through the silky folds—Jon had to keep from groaning at the lush sin of it. He fucking loved her cunt. He played a bit, dabbling here and there, up and down, teasing lightly, featherlike and then pressing harder, alternating in a way that he knew drove her wild. She had both hands now wrapped around his wrist, pressing harder and her chest was starting to rise and fall quickly.

A lovely red bloomed along her cheeks, coloring down her neck. He grinned and ignored how fucking hard he was, intent on torturing her. He thought he saw Ygritte make a face at him out of the corner of his eye and he only smiled, focusing on his task at hand. _Literally._

The sweet-smelling tackiness that coated his fingers flowed quicker with each movement he made. He dragged it up and down, coating her with her mess, circling her little bud and delighting in the pant she gave. Her knuckles were white, gripping a fork. For a moment he thought maybe she would stab him, but he figured it would be worth it, when he finally gave her what she desperately wanted and moved forward a bit, so he could slip his fingers inside of her.

_Oh yes._

It was possible that she said so out loud, her moan disguised poorly as a cough. Yara glared at her again, leaning in and hissing. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Sorry, just…tickle in my throat,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze to the centerpiece—a hideous monstrosity with wolves and a kraken and some sort of ugly golden flower—while also trying to ignore him.

Jon was not happy with that. He began to move his fingers, just two to start, sliding in and out of her tight heat. She gripped them like a vice, clenching and pressing her knees together, trapping his hand. He wanted so fucking bad to be inside of her. His cock was screaming at him in jealousy, trapped in his briefs and now exceptionally tight trousers. _Soon_ , he told it.

He fucked her hard, leaning into her, pretending like he was listening to the music as Ned and Sansa began to dance a cheekily choreographed number that was so fucking stupid he could scream. He leaned his lips in to brush at her earlobe, tongue dancing to prick on the sharp edge of her earring. “I’m going to make you come now.”

“No,” she mumbled, coughing again in case anyone heard her.

“Yes.”

He fucked her faster, the music drowning out any sound of her flowing juices, the obscene squelching a delight to his ears as he finally pushed his index finger in as far as he could and crooked it, just so, pressing up against her pubic bone. She gushed over his hand, coating it and grabbed for her napkin, stuffing it against her mouth as she came, shivering next to him, her thighs trembling around his hand. She made it appear like she was moved, crying at the sight of the father and daughter dancing in front of her, when a couple people looked over at her and frowned. “Sorry,” she apologized. “So sweet, they are.”

When she had stopped trembling, he removed his hand and waited for her to finally glance at him, face flushed, sweat damp around her hairline, and her eyes entirely black. She was _pissed._ He grinned and darted his tongue out to taste her, almost groaning in memory. “So sweet,” he echoed softly.

The chair almost clattered backwards when she stood. Yara looked up, rolling her eyes. “Go,” she mumbled. “I’ll be with that bridesmaid when you get back.” She made a face at him. “You couldn’t wait until after the wedding?”

“I was bored,” he said.

Yara rolled her eyes, but smiled, as Dany leaned down and kissed her lightly. She smiled, warm. “Thanks for inviting me, have a good time with that little bridesmaid.”

“Oh I will. Have fun with your wolf.”

He should have been scared, at Dany’s heated look. “Oh I will.”

~/~/~/~

“Just so you know, this is just…fucking,” Dany grunted, as they both stumbled into the Throne Room, which had a sign that it was closed for repairs. It was the only place other than a bathroom stall where they could have privacy in this place, which made no sense to him since it was filled with empty rooms. Yet all but this one appeared to be in use.

He was trying to get her skirt up around her hips, but the tulle was smothering him. “Just fucking,” he agreed, blood coursing hot through him. He was going to explode in his pants like a green boy if he didn’t get her naked and around him in the next five minutes. He scanned the room and spotted the Iron Throne, which was ugly and not that comfortable looking, but it would have to do.

The other option was the dirty construction-equipment and material covered floor and he was more gentlemanly than that to fuck her on the ground. They weren’t complete animals. He fumbled with the clasp at the back of her neck and groaned as it finally gave, the top of her dress falling forward and her breasts bouncing into his waiting palms. He squeezed them, warm and perfect in his hands, each one filling it exactly so. He rolled her nipples—already hard—in between in his fingers, lips trailing along her collarbone. “Gods, I missed these.”

“Oh, they’ve been there for you, this whole time,” she sobbed, her hands coming to cover his.

He barely had time to think about what that meant before she pushed in his arms, tearing at his shirt and buckle of his pants. _Oh yes, that._ He was shaking; he had no idea why, it wasn’t like they hadn’t done this before and he’d just finger-fucked her at the reception surrounded by family and friends not ten minutes ago. He met her eyes, pausing as her hand stilled over the bulge of his trousers.

The moonlight sliced into the brick and stone room in large chunks, some of it colored blue and red and yellow from the stained-glass windows along the side. He watched as red light flickered over her face, sending it in an ethereal glow. _Gods I love you._ He daren’t say it out loud. It would end this between them, like a bucket of cold water. He instead, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. The first kiss since they’d escaped the reception and gone running for a place to finish what he’d started.

She moaned into his mouth, which he savored, a dying man in a desert, drinking from her, for she was his salvation. He pulled her flush to him, her bare breasts hot on his cool chest. He needed her, he had to have her, there was no more time. Their tongues swept against each other, and her fingers pulled at the back of his neck, dragging him backwards towards the chair.

As much as he wanted to push her down into it and then feast between her legs, treating her like the fucking queen she was, he turned and moved to sit, to draw her into his lap, but she turned again and he skimmed his hands over her bare sides, down to push at her dress, the skirt pooling onto the floor and leaving her bare as her nameday. Her perfect round arse pressed back against him and he moaned, as he dove his fingers back between her legs, messing her up more than he had before.

He pitched forward, reached between them and finally finished undoing his pants, as she rummaged with something in her skirt. “What are you…” he asked. And then she brought her fingers up, a foil-wrapped packet shining in her fingertips. He laughed. “Always prepared, are you?”

“Always,” she smirked.

Once he’d freed himself from the confines of his pants and briefs, which now pooled on the floor to join his jacket, tie, and shirt, and her skirt serving as a cushion of sorts on the throne, he sheathed himself in the condom and turned his face to hers, his fingers dancing along her throat as he kissed her. She groaned against him, rocking her hips to rub back on him, and he thought he might die, not even inside of her and yet already feeling the absolute fire of her on him.

He reached between and then with a few slides of his cock along her slit, dragging her juices around, teasing her just one more time, he pushed into her. One hand on her shoulder and the other on her hip, he almost lost his balance, and she fell forward to grip the arms of the throne, sobbing out, the echo of it bouncing back to surround him. _Fuck._ Jon knew he wouldn’t last long, not like this. She was liquid fire around him, coating him, her hips bouncing back each time he pushed into her. Harder and harder, a man possessed, needing to claim her. His fingers tightened on her hip and she reached her hand back to grab for his, gripping each other on the arm of the chair.

He let go of her long enough to lift her knee, to hook her leg up and give him more room and he pushed his under her thigh dragging it back as he started to lose control. Her cries and grunts mixed with his, both of them desperate for the finish, the pressure building. He felt the tingle in the base of his spine, the warning that it was all going to come crashing around them, and he buried himself in her one more, just one more…

She came first, coaxing him a second later, her body clenching his cock like she had his fingers and her hand letting go of the throne to press between them, pushing on her cunt to either stop the sensation or more likely to encourage it. He closed his eyes tight, inhaled her sweet scent, his lips latching onto her shoulder as he slammed into her one more time and then came, the explosion sending shockwaves up his spine and through his limbs. He weakly thrust into her a couple more times, unsure when it was finally over, because she kept taking and taking, milking him with everything he had inside of him.

They collapsed, no longer able to stay upright, into a tangle on the floor at the base of the historic artifact, her skirts saving them from being directly on the cold and dirty floor. He closed his eyes, trying to regain his strength, but he couldn’t. Breathing was hard, the air hot and burning. He kept his arm around her waist, holding her against him, and after a few moments realized that he was softening enough to slowly pull out of her, careful of her. She groaned at the movement.

After a few moments, when he’d disposed of the condom and pulled his pants back on, while she fished around for the hook on her skirt, did they look at each other. Her hair was sticking up from its previously neat style and there was dust smudging her arms and all over the skirt. She still wore her high heels, he realized, closing his eyes and mentally chastising himself for not committing the sight of him fucking her in her high heels to permanent memory.

“Where are your shoes?” she wondered, looking around, as she lifted the top of her dress up.

Jon didn’t remember kicking them or his socks off, but he found them at the base of the steps to the chair. He tugged them on and sought about rebuttoning his shirt. They continued to say nothing, until they were walking back to the door. He shoved his bowtie into his pocket, not bothering to tuck in the ends of the shirt. He wrapped the jacket over her shoulders, realizing how cold it now was. They were both shivering; sweat beaded on them both from their activities, alerting them now to the chill of the evening.

He really needed a drink. And a cigarette. He closed his eyes. _Well, you aren’t bored anymore_ , he thought. He glanced at her, seeing her dark smile. “What?” he wondered.

“Nothing,” she said, with another odd smile. She reached up, gripping the lapels of his shirt and dragged him down for a hard, bruising kiss. He felt blood burst on his lip, from the hard bite she took out of it and broke away a second later. Her voice soft. "It's just fucking, right?" _Right_ , he thought, rubbing at his lip, frowning. She pushed him, hard. “Later.”

_Later!?_

Jon was about to demand _what the fuck!?_ when the door opened, Dany stepping back just as Yara poked her head in. She rolled her eyes. “Oh, here you are. You guys done fucking? I’m about to leave, I managed to get that bridesmaid curious about women. Hey, you want a ride?”

Dany rolled her eyes. “No, I’ll fine another one. Later Snow.” She edged between him and Yara and out the door, heels clicking angrily on the stone floor.

He was mad; he wanted to know what the seven hells that was about, and intended to go after her, when Yara blocked his way out. He wiggled his fingers. “Out of the way.”

“What did you say to her?” she asked.

“Nothing!”

Yara rolled her eyes and pushed hard on his shoulder. “Fucking idiot. You know nothing, do you?”

 _That’s what my ex always used to say._ He really didn’t fancy running into her and fully intended on leaving if he couldn’t catch up with Dany. He was sick of this shit. “That’s what they all say,” he mocked, trying to get around her, but Yara blocked him again. He growled. “Do you mind?”

“You know she almost begged me to come and she never begs.”

 _What?_ He blinked. Yara’s brow was furrowed. She wore a black suit with gold embroidery, which glinted as she pushed at him again, knocking him against the wall. He knew better than to go after Yara; she was in the Westerosi navy and was quite possibly one of the scariest women in the world—other than Ygritte who was only scary because she was psycho. Yara was deadly and she was smart and he was not interested in getting on her bad side. Which it seemed he was at the moment.

“What are you talking about?” His heart began to thud hard in his chest.

Yara sighed. “I promised I wouldn’t tell but I see I have no choice. Yeah, she found out about the wedding and begged me to take her as a date. You know we hooked up and all, but it wasn’t serious enough to bring her as a wedding date anywhere and she knew it. She wanted to make you jealous and she wanted to see you and this was a good enough excuse as any. Now here you are, fucking it up again.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Gods you are fucking thick. Get it through your deranged skull, Jon Snow, she still loves you and either you are fucking around with her and her feelings which makes you more of a bastard than you realize, or you’re really just that stupid and can’t seem to understand it!” Yara shouted. She pushed her fingers through her hair. “Now, I’m going to leave before that bridesmaid convinces herself she’s actually straight which I know she definitely is not. Excuse me.”

As she went to open the door, leaving him more confused than ever, it swung open. It seemed no one respected the “Closed for Repairs” sigh, he huffed, trying to adjust his clothes. This time though, no understanding person stood on the other side, but Ygritte, her green eyes wild as she darted between him and Ygritte. “Who the fuck is this?” she shouted, gesturing to Yara. She shot a look at the other woman, who smirked. “Your new fuck?”

Jon winced. “I wouldn’t make her angry.” He didn’t know if he was talking to Yara or to Ygritte, honestly.

“Oh sweetie, he is not my type,” Yara said, moving from around Ygritte. She laughed, waving at him. “Later Snow.”

_Fuck._

Ygritte rounded on him, blazing. “What the fuck?”

Several minutes of shouting with her later, of running down the hall of the keep to evade her, and swearing to all the gods old and new that he was going to destroy Sansa the next opportunity he could for bringing his crazy ex around, he managed to get away. Thankfully, Ygritte caught sight of Val, one of his other sort-of-ex-girlfriends that Sansa invited, but with whom he was on much friendlier terms with because it hadn’t gone beyond a couple weeks of innocent flirtation before she grew bored with how slow he was and moved on to his friend Tormund.

Val could handle herself, so he went in search of Dany, finding her outside and waiting on the curb, fumbling with her purse. “Dany,” he called.

She turned and looked over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. “Oh, here.” She shrugged off his jacket, handing it to him. “Forgot.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“Shouldn’t you be back there, you know, with your family?”

He rolled his eyes, coming around to stand in front of her, so he could look her straight on, no more games, no more pretenses. It seemed they were done with those. They also were never very good at them either. All they managed to do was hurt each other. “You and I both know that they’re not my family, not really.” He reached to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She tried to move from his touch, but he stilled her, hand on her shoulder. He leaned in closer, head dropping to hers. “Dany.”

“Jon, let’s stop with this, okay? It’s just never going to be the right time.”

“But what if I want to make it the right time?”

She blinked. “What?”

 _Good. I startled her._ He sighed; he was not in a place where having a girlfriend was probably the best. Half the time he was unemployed, such was the life of a freelance writer. He drank too much, he smoked too much, and he had way too many issues. It was what always got in the way of them. One thing or another, whether it be him or her. He reached for her, pulling her against him. She stumbled slightly on her heels, and reached to grab his biceps for support, fingers digging in tight. He smiled. “I’m a fucking mess, you know,” he whispered. He sighed. “But if there’s one thing in my life that isn’t a mess, it’s how I feel about you.”

After a moment, her violet eyes dark on his, and not a word said yet, he frowned, wondering if he’d fucked that up too. It sounded right in his head, but he really sucked with words—ironically—so maybe it hadn’t been the right thing. He was about to say so, to apologize, when her impassive face broke into a smile. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “You sure do know how to proposition a girl Jon Snow. Tell her what a mess you are and how she isn’t one.”

He flushed. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” she assured him.

With her arms now going around his neck, hands locking around her wrists, she moved closer, eyes still on his and her nose brushing his. He smiled, shrugging his shoulder slightly. “I was always going to bail before the end, so you wanna’ get out of here? Get some real food and a real drink?”

She wrinkled her nose, nodding, and kissed him, soft. “Fuck yeah.”

“Remind me to thank Arya.”

“Why?”

He swept her around and off her feet, swinging her knees over his arm, to her surprised laughter. He kissed her again, grinning. “Because she bailed on me. If she hadn’t, I don’t know if I’d have seen you. We’d be busy trying to destroy the honeymoon suite.”

“You’re awful.”

“Yeah, well.”

There was a sound of laughter and screeching behind them. They looked over to see a gaggle of girls running down the steps, led by a drunk Sansa. He rolled his eyes. He had no idea what this was or why they were off the schedule, but seemed Sansa was taunting her friends with her bouquet. He moved to take Dany away, to go steal one of the limos and con the driver to take them to the nearest greasy spoon, when he heard the girls scream and out of the corner of his eye saw Sansa’s ugly bouquet making its way through the air.

On instinct, to keep it from hitting him in the face, Dany grabbed it.

It took a minute, before she realized what she’d done and stared at him in horror. He blinked and then glanced at all the girls, including a demon-eyed Ygritte. “Run,” Dany shouted, throwing the bouquet back at the hoard to fend them off.

Didn’t need to tell him twice and he took off down the street, with Dany in his arms, both of them laughing hysterically.


	2. tied up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night after the wedding, Jon and Dany have some more fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter added for more Jonerys Kinkfest additions to include face-fucking and bondage-- also I couldn't let this messy beans go for some reason. Enjoy!

Jon was going to fucking _die._

He was sure of it. What amounted to his heart had stopped beating, he was sure of it, it had seized up in an attack a few minutes before and he no longer had a pulse. He could hear something roaring in his ears, but that was probably the sound of death coming to take him away. Every muscle in his body was tight and he strained to bring oxygen into his lungs, but it was impossible. They strained against his ribcage, rattling through his constricted throat, and ultimately it was futile. He didn’t need to breathe.

He was dead.

Words babbled out of him, but his brain was off somewhere else, operating on its own accord, probably just releasing years of pent-up frustration before he finally departed the world. He couldn’t hear himself, because he was just grunting and gasping, wasting the precious air he still had inside of him. He pulled all his energy together to arch against the torture, his back bowing and his hips thrusting forward, seeking more.

 _Gods, I just want to grab her hair_ , he thought, peering through his eyelashes down at the glorious sight before him. He tried to focus, everything blurring together as the delicious torture almost brought tears to his eyes. Sweat beaded along his brow and dampened the hair at the base of his neck, still knotted in its messy bun from the previous evening. He didn’t think he’d seen a sight more breathtaking to him, except maybe the face that she made when he was in her position, knelt between her thighs with his hands on her hips, worshiping her cunt and treating her the way she deserved, teasing and licking and savoring her delicious taste.

He fucking _loved_ eating her cunt.

As he had done last night, a couple of times, until she could take no more of it and had been boneless under him as he fucked her again, before they both collapsed and fell asleep, his mind just barely registering to dispose of his condom before they crawled under the covers. He woke up to her mouth on him, thinking it was a dream. The way her tongue trailed down the soft skin beneath his navel, traced over the muscles he had spent many long hours in the gym tightening and toning, and eventually her plump, perfect pink lips closing over him, teasing him to full attention.

She was so good to him, he sighed, smiling in his sleep as she tightened her lips around him, the perfect amount of suction and pulling, the pressure of her little nimble fingers around the base of his cock and then up the shaft, her thumb dragging along the thick vein underneath before she swirled around the head, only to push back down again. He grunted and pushed harder into her mouth, wanting more, and she obliged. He could feel the commingling texture of her spit and precum sliding over him, hear the obscene slurping and gargling as she tried to breathe through the force of his demanding body pushing into her again.

_What a nice dream._

He had moved to take her hair, to wrap those glorious strands of silver around his hand and tug on them, to cup her cheek in his palm; he just loved watching her when she sucked his cock, at the depth of her violet eyes, the intensity with which she did it. Nothing but her all, that was his Dany. Except he couldn’t. He tried, several times, but his arms were locked above his head.

He arched again, twisting his hips, the familiar tingle in the base of his spine warning him that the end was coming. “Dany,” he grunted. He tried to push his thighs together, to do something to get her to lessen a bit, because he was gradually losing complete and total control, he had no idea how much longer he had left in him. How much he could take the torture. He wanted desperately to grab her head, to push her harder into him, but he couldn’t.

The red silk belt that had been wrapped around the waist of her dress—he hadn’t noticed it at the wedding—bound his wrists to the bedframe. The fancy five-star hotel in King’s Landing likely chose the twisted wrought iron headboard because it went with the darker aesthetic of the room, with its heavy curtains and gray walls, never believing that one of their guest’s would use tie anyone to it, but Dany was never if not resourceful. She had it knotted so as he pulled the knot tightened like a noose on his wrists, preventing him from truly struggling. His fingers were wrapped tight, knuckles whitening, around the bars, cool against his heated palms. He gripped the scarf tighter, the silk cutting into his skin, head bowing back and eyes closing, needing more of her.

As much as he adored her mouth, he wanted her cunt. “Let me come inside you,” he gasped, the words blending together in one breath. His mouth fell open, swallowing air, eyes locked on hers.

She shook her head, his cock bobbing between her lips. She popped off the head, still stroking the base, twisting her fingers in the way she knew he loved. He groaned when her other hand slipped from his thigh to fondle at his stones, scraping her nails gently along them. He whined, hips arching back to her again. “Nope,” she said, grinning as she closed over him again.

 _Alright fine._ If she was going to kill him, then he would do the same to her. He pushed his hips back to her, swiveling them, his cock now lodged almost entirely to the back of her throat, fucking her hard. He pulled on the scarf, the exquisite torture coming to an end when the tickle at his spine moved up and he felt it coming. “Fuck,” he shouted, wanting to grab her head, push her down onto him to keep her there as he came, but Dany was ahead of him.

She had her hands on his hips, choking as he came inside of her, his eyesight going dark and little pinpricks sparking on the edges. A strangled groan came from somewhere deep inside of him and he wasn’t sure he could stop coming. He weakly thrusted against her as she sucked on him as he came, the sensitivity from coming and the pull and drag of her mouth on him coupled with the suction was almost too much. She kept her eyes on him, unblinking, tears watering and streaming down the sides of her face with his cum and her spittle.

When it finished, Jon was sure, yes, he was dead.

He remained still. He had no energy to even try to fight the bonds she’d placed on him again. His fingers were numb, his body slack, and his softening cock now gently placed from Dany’s mouth against his thigh as his body retreated into itself to recover. The mattress shifted and the movement of her body over his brought her breasts right over his mouth. He opened one eye, spying the slightly beard abraded globe, her nipple flushed pink.

His tongue darted to lick it, swirling around and drawing it into his mouth, which felt dry, but now began to wet, eager to get to her, to do to her what she’d just done to him. Dany moaned softly, her fingers fumbling on the knots around his wrists. “Don’t do that,” she groaned.

“Hmm,” he could only say. Words had long left him. He moved to the other one, but she shifted out of the way. He accepted the kiss she placed on him, groaning at the taste of himself in her mouth, the way she slid her tongue around his, mimicking what she’d just done to him. He even could taste the brief bit of her sweetness, leftover from when he’d fed her his fingers earlier once he’d finished with her. Her lips brushed soft against his, gentling the kiss.

The difference in how they could be with each other sometimes scared him. They could fight, scream, and fuck like they were the only people left in the world. A second later they would be in each other’s arms, murmuring sweet things and kissing like it was their first time. Downright terrifying, which often resulted in one or both of them panicking and running off, deliberately sabotaging what they had.

He didn’t want to do that anymore.

That evening he had no idea he would ever see her again. Until she’d come into the sept with Yara, looking like the column of fire she was, a flirting smile on her lips, taunting him. He couldn’t help it. Daenerys Targaryen was the one drug he would relapse for over and over and over again. He could be sober for years and the second she showed up, he would be drunk on her.

He felt his body stirring, already recovering as she moved her fingers lightly across his stomach, softly stroking him. “You’re insatiable,” he groaned, rocking his hips up into her deft hand.

“Seems like I’m not the only one.”

“I want to feel you,” he whimpered, when she slid her hips over him. He pulled at the fucking scarf, eyes rolling up to glare angrily at it. He groaned at the soft tugs of her hand on him, already hardening for another round. “Let me go.”

Dany shook her head again, chuckling. “Not yet,” she growled. She kept one hand on him, pumping gently to bring him to full readiness, while her other lightly scraped across his jaw, a finger dipping between his lips.

They locked eyes; he could drown in hers. Every emotion she ever felt was in her eyes. She could never hide from him there. He feared what shined back at him then, didn’t want to misread it. _Gods I love her_ , he thought, nipping the tip of her finger. She chuckled throatily, her breath rasping. “I have a confession.”

He bowed off the bed, as best he could, when she lifted her hips, tucking his cock up through her folds, slicking her wetness along him. “What’s that?” he barely managed to get out. He glanced sideways at the upended box of condoms, but she didn’t go for one, and he hissed at the heat that engulfed him when she sank over him, gently working him into her. He closed his eyes, exhaling hard through his nose to keep from going off right then. _She’s the best feeling in the world_.

“I made Yara take me.”

He knew this of course, courtesy of Yara. He nodded quickly, muscles straining at the scarf, at the bars, desperately wanting to hold her, to feel her and to take her into his arms. Except he was trapped, entirely at her mercy as she swiveled her hips around him, her abdomen clenching and her tits bouncing lightly with each move. Her back arched, thrusting forward as she took him into her deeper, angling so he was stroking against the back of her walls, hitting the spots inside of her he had long ago discovered drove her to intense pleasure.

They were losing control. What little of it he had inside of him he used to push his knees up, anchoring his feet flat on the mattress and she shifted again, one hand going backwards to his thigh to hold and the other burning into his hip, meshing her pelvis angrily against his with each increasingly erratic thrust.

He drove into her with all he had, almost coming off the bed, feet anchored for leverage, chest rising and falling rapidly as he watched her come undone, her hand slipping down to twirl her fingers around her clit. “Harder,” he directed. She smiled at him and he nodded, ordering; even if he was tied up, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself.

One of her hands kept between them and she leaned forward over him, her breasts pillowing against his chest, nipping scraping over his skin and he groaned, about to come apart again. She kissed him, whimpering into his mouth. “Jon.”

 _I love you_ was on the tip of his tongue, his mind separating at the seams as he struggled to stay cognizant of what was happening, while every nerve ending in his body seemed to explode at once. Fingers and hands numb, his legs shaking, and hips stuttering, he came apart, groaning into her mouth as he released all he had. She clenched around him, her body shivering as her orgasm rippled through her. She cried out his name, high and whining, as he grunted through the rest of his, every bit of his release taken by her as she squeezed around him, not letting him up.

She collapsed on his chest, weak and he closed his eyes. He didn’t even feel when she let go of his bonds, just that once the scarf gave way, his arms were around her, fingers diving into her silky hair, which now pooled over his chest, her head over his heart. He kissed her over and over, both of them exhausted, sated, and content to just lie there forever. Well, he was at least.

All he wanted to do was drift off, to sleep for days, but he couldn’t. Things were still unsaid. They could leave them there of course. Just get up in the morning—or maybe it was morning already—say goodbye. Like they always did. Every single time they found each other and tripped over themselves to find excuses not to stay together. There were some very good ones. He barely focus on himself let alone someone else. She was terrified of her feelings. He was hung up on the fact he was actually _allowed_ to have something nice. She was desperate for love and sought it from anyone who gave her affection.

He twirled a lock of her hair around his finger, mesmerized as it bounced back, over and over. “Dany,” he murmured.

“Hmm?”

“Why did you come to the wedding?”

She opened one eye and then the other. So much in those violet lakes. He touched the corner of her eye, dragging his fingertip under and over her cheekbone. It came up damp. Another tear leaked out, this one dropping to his chest. He pretended not to notice and neither did she. “I think you know,” she whispered.

“Tell me.”

“Jon…”

“I love you,” he blurted. It wasn’t the right time. It was never the right time. He meant what he said. He chuckled, drowsy, forcing his eyes to stay open. “I am a mess Dany, like I said. But that’s the truth.”

Another tear. She sniffed. “I love you too, but is that enough?”

“It is for me.”

“It never was before.”

“Because before we were fucking stupid.” They were still fucking stupid. They saw each other for the first time in two years and immediately were all over each other, not a care in the world for anyone or anything around them. He didn’t want to fill his heart with alcohol and shitty jobs and the occasional fling with Ygritte—always his go to when he was miserable and wanted to keep feeling miserable.

Dany closed her eyes tight. She moved up his side, so she could look down at his eyes. He pushed his hand over the small of her back, anchoring her to him. She smiled, wavering. “I married Drogo because I heard you were with Ygritte and I wanted to make you jealous,” she said. She sniffed. “He doted on me. But it wasn’t enough. I was engaged to Daario because again, he loved me, and well, I thought that was enough.” She sighed, almost a laugh. “Gods Jon, I wished they were you.”

They would have plenty of time to talk, he thought, drawing her down over him, kissing her again. He put as much as he could possibly feel into the kiss, how much he loved her, how much he was willing to work to do this. Leave it to his stupid cousin and her stupid wedding for him to figure out what he was willing to lose and risk and give up and change to be with the one person in the world who ever really loved him. Who ever saw _him._ Not the person they wanted him to be like the rest of his damn family.

They broke the kiss and she smiled, her brow wrinkling. “We still have to talk.”

“Aye. We have a lot to talk about.”

She dropped her head to his shoulder closing her eyes. “I’m still a mess Jon.”

“Me too.” _We can both be messes together._

They fell asleep, tangled together, and woke up once more to make love again, before she went to get a shower and he called room service. He tugged on his tuxedo pants from the night before when the bell at the door rang, walking over and not bothering to check the peephole, swinging it open and fully expecting to see the cart with all the pancakes and waffles he’d ordered, as Dany was usually ravenous after a night like they’d had.

Except instead of room service it was Arya, standing in her wrinkled bridesmaid’s dress, her hair a knot on top of her head. She scowled at him. “Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been calling you all night! Dad was worried, you weren’t anywhere for the family pictures seeing Sansa off.”

“Do you even think she cares?”

“Well no, but Dad did.” Arya pushed into his room. She glanced sideways, a brow arching. “You look terrible.”

 _I look well fucked._ He didn’t say this, because Arya was basically his little sister. He darted his gaze towards the bedroom, wondering if he could get over to close the door in time, but it didn’t matter, Arya had already seen the destroyed bed, the red scarf hanging from the headboard, and the pile of used condom wrappers. She make a disgusted sound, gagging. “Fuck Jon! Who was it?”

“Why do you care? You abandoned me.”

“Well Gendry showed up, I wasn’t going to have you be the third wheel.”

He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for that. Now get out. I’m alive, yay.”

“Dad will be so pleased,” she drolled. She smirked, looking around and crossing her arms over her chest. “So ah…who was the lucky lady?”

“No one.”

It was too late again; she’d spotted Dany’s dress on the floor behind the couch. He’d taken it off there after he’d hoisted her onto the back of the couch and eaten her out under her skirt, like he’d originally wanted to do at the wedding. Arya screeched, bouncing in place and clapping her hands. “Oh my gods!”

“Get out!” He tried to grab her around the middle, to carry her bodily to the door, but Arya was too nimble and quick for him, diving away and laughing, dancing around on the balls of her feet. “Arya! Fuck it, I’ll kill you, get out!”

The shower turned off and to make matters worse, Dany’s soft voice called out. “Jon? Is someone else here?”

“I thought she was with Yara?” Arya laughed.

“Well she was technically at some point, but she came to the wedding…”

“Yeah I know she gave Mom a stroke.”

He scowled. “And you were off with Gendry not giving a shit about me. Now get out.”

Dany emerged from the bedroom, his black dress shirt slicked against her damp skin, running a towel over her ropey curls. She hadn’t seen Arya yet, was too busy trying to dry her hair. “Did you order the strawberry pancakes like I asked?”

“Oh I think he ordered you anything you wanted Dany.”

Her eyes sprang open, head lifting, and stared at Arya. Her mouth formed a little ‘o’ of surprise. “Arya!”

Arya grinned. He wanted to punch her, but instead managed to get an elbow into her gut, forcing her to dive away from him again as he chased her towards the door. She wiggled her fingers. “Hey Dany! Thought I saw you at the wedding!”

“Uh…”

“Should have known you’d get back with her,” his little sister continued to tease, still managing to get away from him. She laughed. “Fuck! I missed Ygritte’s reaction!” She squealed again. “Gods ! Sansa was probably a mess!”

He managed to wrestle her to the door. “This is what happens when you abandon me.”

“So are you guys together now or what?” She didn’t wait for an answer before she dived around the side of him to laugh at Dany, pointing. “Oh my gods! That explains it! One of Sansa’s stupid friends was crying because some _nobody_ caught the bouquet!” She bounced again. “Ooh! You guys are getting married next!”

_”OUT!”_

“Love you Jon! Later Dany!”

The door slammed hard behind her; he was exhausted. He fell back against it, closing his eyes and taking a few steadying breaths. This was not how he wanted his family to find out about Dany’s return to his life. He moved away, going to pick up his phone and sure enough, there were dozens of texts from Ned asking if he was alright, to call him, text him, and he wanted to make sure he was safe. He saw a few from Robb and Arya for the same. Only one from Sansa: _YOU RUINED MY WEDDING I HATE YOU._

He sent one to her that just said: _Always my goal to ruin your life. Have a good honeymoon!_

“Um, so…Arya’s going to tell everyone I guess.” Dany came up beside him, leaning sideways, ducking her head so she could peer up at him. She frowned. “That…okay?”

In the past it would have really bothered him. Now…He set the phone down, reminding himself to call Ned to apologize for worrying him. He hated that Ned still worried for him like he was a teenager out with the family car past curfew. He was a grown man. _Sort of._ He looped his arms around her waist, bringing her to his chest, the soft silk of the dress shirt cool on his bare chest. He kissed her lightly. “It’s perfect.”

The bell rang again, this time it was room service. They piled the plates on their knees on the bed, scarfing down pancakes and waffles like they were wandering in a desert for a whole season. Once they finished, Jon reached back to the headboard, deftly removing the scarf. “You ready?” he asked.

Dany looked up, licking syrup off her fingers. “Ready?”

“For a little game.”

“Game?”

He pounced, to her delighted squeals, and managed to get her wrists bound back to the bed. She was panting, her eyes black with desire, and her tongue darting to lick her lips. Jon smiled, rocking back on his heels. He reached over for one of the plates and scooped up some remaining whipped cream, dabbing some on her tongue before he dropped it to her breasts, still smiling. “Yes, a game.”

Dany groaned. “Gods, Jon, why is it always you?” she wondered, sighing as he began to lick off the cream from her breasts.

He sighed in agreement. “I don’t know Dany, but I know it’s always you too.”

She giggled, which soon turned into a heated moan, the lower he began to drop the whipped cream and lap up.


	3. together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About a year after the wedding, Jon and Dany prepare for one of their own, despite a few ah, logistical challenges in the beginning they make do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sexy messy beans are back for a final Kinkfest chapter! I originally planned this as a plotless smutty one-shot and then now it turned into a trilogy of sorts for these dorks. 
> 
> Prompts for this one are sexting, toys, dirty talk, and masturbation.
> 
> As always, you will be deleted if you post foul comments. Don't like, don't read. Simple as that.
> 
> ETA: Dany’s wedding dress   
> https://paolosebastian.com/collections/2019-20-autumn-winter-couture-collection/psaw1906

Dany was going to _murder_ someone.

Actually, no, she was going to murder Sansa Stark-Greyjoy, who was in the process of trying to control everything. She ignored her as best she could, wondering how come she was even _there._ It wasn’t like they invited her. “Is this your idea of a joke?” she demanded from Arya, who was texting rapidly, fingers flying over her phone as she cracked gum. One of Arya’s Chucks bounced up and down in tandem to whatever she was listening to in her airpods.

Arya was now mouthing along to whatever song. Dany threw a hairpin at her. She glanced up. “What?” she shouted.

Dany ripped one of the pods from her ear, glaring at her. “Sansa!” she hissed.

“Oh.” Arya looked over at Sansa, who was crying over to the side with Catelyn, wondering how come no one was listening to her ideas, because she thought it was actually a good idea to have an ice sculpture in the reception and why did no one agree, because she’d already _bought_ it and they were just going to put it up but _no one_ was being nice to her.

“I’m the only one who has actually gotten married!” she whined.

Dany scowled at Arya, hands on her hips. “Robb’s married, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, but don’t tell Sansa that.”

“This is such a diasaster. Why is she even _here_?”

“Honestly I thought it would be funny, I didn’t realize she was going to do all this shit,” Arya said, cracking her gum again. Dany glared. That was dumb, of course Sansa would try to make it about her. She _hated_ Dany. Arya popped her gum again. She picked it out of her mouth, grinning at it and wiggled her eyebrows. “Hey, let’s put it in her hair.”

“What are you twelve?” Dany had to admit it wasn’t a bad option. This was a disaster, she had to agree. Nothing was going according to the plan. The plan was to just run off to the courthouse, sign some papers, make out in front of the judge, and then head North to celebrate with some of Jon’s actual friends, who knew how to party. Well, knew how to party for a newly sober Jon.

Then Arya thought it would be fun to have a ceremony. She brought Gendry along, Dany thought _okay fine._ Her first wedding had been a massive miserable fake affair and she did not want to do that again. Jon didn’t want anything because he didn’t want to be tempted to drink. Robb then got involved. Ned wanted to bring along most of the bigger names of the North, since Jon was in fact a Stark even if he “ _refused to believe it himself._ ” Jon ignored that argument but because he was so desperate for Ned’s approval he was secretly happy about it. Now it was an unmitigated disaster.

Catelyn sneered at her, waving her finger up and down at her dress. Dany glanced down, wondering if she spilled something on it. “Is this…the dress?” It was clear she was not satisfied.

She nodded. “Yes. It’s an Ellaria Sand.” Cost her a fortune and was couture. She was dying for Jon’s reaction.

“It’s a bit...inappropriate for a wedding don’t you think?” Catelyn asked.

“I think you look sexy,” Yara said, wiggling her brows from where she was seated on the loveseat, her phone in her hands. She grinned, long and slow. “Reminds me of that dress you wore when we were together remember? The time we went to the Summer Isles.”

Dany smiled, appreciating her friend’s little reminder of the fact that Dany and Yara had once been a thing and yes, she had accompanied her to Sansa’s wedding, where yes, she did actually make out with a girl in front of Catelyn and her stuffy friends. “Hmm, yes I remember.” She licked her lips, brows arching, smile flirting. “I told Jon about it, he was quite… _enthused_.”

“Glad I could contribute to your sex life.”

Arya snorted as Catelyn’s face turned beet red. She got to her feet. “I’ll save you from Sansa.”

“I appreciate it, since you got me into this mess.”

“I didn’t get you into anything, you did that to yourself when you thought my brother was a hot piece of ass.” Arya rolled her eyes, blowing a bubble that almost popped over her face. She stuck out her tongue, arms crossing. The dark gray dress she wore looked like it had been torn in several places, which Dany could already see Catelyn disapproving and itching to get her fingers to try to adjust Arya’s chosen dress for the event. Despite the tattered look, it cost a couple grand, which Catleyn couldn’t ignore. It was all about the status with that one, Dany thought.

She picked up her phone, sitting on the vanity table next to her, thinking that yes, it had been her idea to go after Jon all those years ago. He was so cute, when he had arrested her. He couldn’t believe she was trespassing on government property. Even cracked about how could she have gotten as far as she did with the giant banners she had, she was so tiny. He had checked her out, whether he knew it or not, his gaze lingering a bit too long on her tits and ass. He couldn’t string two words together without blushing. You’d think he was a virgin. Dany realized she wasn’t far off, realizing that he’d only had one partner to that point. The day they first fucked was the day she fell head over heels in love with Jon Snow. It was supposed to just be a fling. That was it. Burning off steam as they argued nonstop. _Sigh._

Her phone buzzed in her hand. She turned it over, smiling at the text. _What are you wearing?_

“Dumbass,” she mumbled. She texted back: _No, what are you wearing?_

_Nothing. Just got out of the shower._

She glanced at the clock, panicked. Fingers flying, she stood, going into the adjacent bedroom of the suite in Winterfell’s guest wing, where she’d been spending the night and was supposed to be getting ready. Too bad she wasn’t Sansa and didn’t take two days to prepare for anything. By the time everyone arrived, she already had her hair and makeup done, and had just put on her dress. Dany felt her pulse thud against the walls of her veins, her throat constricting at the mental image she received of Jon fresh out of the shower.

Black curls wet, slicked around his face, probably sticking up along the back and the top like they always did. If it had been one of his hot showers, his pale, marble skin would be flushed pink. He always turned red in the face too. Water droplets pooling along the concave dips of skin around his collarbone…trickling over his washboard stomach…trapping in that fine line of hair just below his navel…a line of water bumping along his vertebrae and curving over that rockhard fine ass of his…

“Oh,” she softly groaned, unable to stop herself. She closed her eyes again, taking a steadying breath. _Calm down Dany. It isn’t like you haven’t fucked before._

Except they hadn’t. They’d abstained in the week leading up to the big day. She sighed, replying: _Whose bloody idea was it to not fuck?_

_Yours._

_Remind me never to do that again._

_You think we’ll be getting married again?_

_Well no…_

_I’ll marry you as many times as you want. So long as I can fuck you afterward._

There were no emoticons in Jon’s texts. He didn’t subscribe to them, he thought they were stupid. Dany actually didn’t think he knew where they were on his phone. So there was no winky face after what he said, like how she might have replied. He was dead serious. She chewed her bottom lip, sinking onto the edge of her bed, feeling flush as her cheeks reddened and her skin prickled.

_Are you dressed yet?_

_Getting there._

_I’m just thinking of you right out of the shower. Your ass in particular._

_That is your favorite._

_I like your cock too. In fact, if you were here with me, I’d have my mouth around it right now. I can’t wait. First thing after the ceremony, I’m taking you into the nearest room and swallowing it whole._ Dany looked at what she typed, waiting a moment and then hit ‘send.’

There was nothing on the other end for a moment. She wondered if she scared him off. Until she saw the three little dots start to move. One…two…three…and then they repeated. They stopped and started a few times, until he replied. Her mouth fell and her chest began to rise and fall, her legs subconsciously spreading underneath her skirt. She heard the arguing in the other room, between Sansa, Arya, and Yara. Her best friend Missandei had arrived, but like the true best friend she was, she was corralling the groomsmen, checking to make sure the flowers were on their way, and doing all her duties like a pro.

Dany would be dead if not for Missandei, probably because she would have hurled herself off the top of Winterfell’s highest tower by that point. She’d have taken Jon with her too, but he probably wouldn’t mind. She was increasingly wet, feeling the dampness pool between her legs, staring at what he’d typed back.

_You might want my cock, but once I get a chance, I’m lifting up your skirt and licking your cunt until you come. I don’t care if everyone hears. It’s been a week since I’ve tasted you. I dream of it. I’ll be hard up at the fucking tree waiting for you. You’re wet now, right?_

Gods, he knows me well. She swallowed the dry lump in her throat, crossing her legs, staving off the pressure. She texted back: _I’m going to be wet going down the aisle. Is that what you want?_

_Fuck yes._

Dany stood and hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She waited a moment and texted quickly. _I can’t wait for you. I’m in the bathroom. What are you going to do to me?_

_Are you in your dress?_

_Yes._

_Show me._

She chuckled. _No, groom can’t see the bride before the wedding._

_Fuck that._

All she wanted was to hit the button to Facetime him. To show him exactly what she looked like, to tuck the phone under her skirt so he could get a look at how she was _not_ wearing knickers and how she was swollen and slick, her cunt pulsing painfully, wanting something that it would not get for a few hours yet. She licked her lips once more and tapped a response.

_Good things come to those who wait._

_Just a peek._

Dany waited a second and then reached beneath her long filmy skirt. She ran her fingers along her folds, gathering up the wetness, circling her nub a few times and moaned softly, biting hard on her lower lip as she teased herself. She slid one finger in after a moment, before adding another. After a moment, she reached the phone under her skirt and with both fingers bracketing her cunt, she snapped the picture. He would be able to see not just how needy she was, but also the inner fabric of the dress, hinting to him just exactly what she’d be wearing when she went down that aisle in the godswood.

She flushed; in all the depravity they had engaged in over the years, all the times they’d taken each other, when they were angry and sad or excited and thrilled, she’d never actually sent him these types of photos. _Fuck it, we’re about to get married._ She hit send.

After a moment, her phone rang. She jumped, startled at the sound, and glanced at the name. It was his face, filling her screen. The black and white shot of him looking off towards the mountains, that she’d taken of him when they’d gone to Hardhome. His broody, beautiful profile, chiseled straight from marble. “Fuck,” she cursed, hitting the green button to the side and answered, her breath gasping. “Hello?”

“You fucking tease.” He spoke tightly, breath strained. “Why’d you do that?”

“Because I hate you.”

“Obviously.”

She smirked. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing? I can’t even walk out of this bathroom with this hard-on, let alone stand up at the damn hearttree with my _father_ next to me!”

She snorted. “Poor you.”

“Is your dress red?” he blurted out.

“Hmm, no comment.” It was red. Crimson, in fact. Dany was not getting married in white. She’d done that already. It was a sham wedding for a shitty marriage that was already going to end in divorce if Drogo hadn’t broken his neck going for a ride while drunk. She and Jon had been through hell and back together, so she was going to wear the color she attributed to that. Fire. They were both reborn and they were rising together, setting forth on a new life with each other.

Her dress was a slinky sheer lace and tulle column, with a short train. She had a black and red old-fashioned cloak, in deference to the odd tradition in the North of exchanging your ‘house colors.’ The Starks were obsessed with tradition and the _old ways._ Dany came from a family as old as theirs, if not older, and all she had ever seen in the old history books that her uncle still kept at the family estate were that the Targaryens draped themselves in black and red, fire and blood. No wonder Catelyn hated it.

She lifted her foot up to prop on the old-fashioned claw-foot porcelain tub, as she sat on the counter, swinging her other foot back and forth under her stretched out leg. She moved her hand under her skirt again, which was kind of burdensome, as it was a lot of long fabric that bunched up under her arm. She slipped her fingers along her folds again, imagining they were Jon’s. “I’m imagining you’re here,” she whispered, closing her eyes. It was like he was, hearing his breath quicken in her ear. She smiled, drunk on the feeling of her hand between her legs, teasing back and forth along her sopping cunt. “I can feel your mouth on me…kissing my thigh and up…higher…”

“Dany,” he groaned. "Fuck. You are so dirty. Keep going."

There was no need to try to make her voice "sexy", as she had already dropped a few octaves, breathy and needy. “You put your fingers in me, first one and then another…” She did the same, mimicking. She closed her eyes tighter. Her slim fingers were nothing compared to his thick, rough ones. She dragged her fluids along, bringing her thumb to press at her clit as her index and middle went into her again. She groaned, stammering. “Your...your hand is around my...my back…pushing me against you…”

“Dany, fuck so good. What do you taste like? Tell me.” His breath was quickening. She was aware that they had to get going; she could hear the sounds of the others in the room outside the door, getting louder. She even thought she heard Missandei asking where she was.

She pressed the phone harder to her ear, propped against her shoulder as she shifted, her other hand going to continue what she’d been doing as she brought her slick one up to her mouth, tongue darting out to lap up her essence. She groaned. “So good…salty and…sweet.”

“Gods, yes. Keep going, fuck yourself harder.”

She did as he bid, moving her hand with more pressure against her, rocking her hips against her fingers, quickening the speed of her fingers circling at her numb, while her other hand jerked up to her breasts, fondling them over the lace. The dress had a deep V that exposed a tasteful bit of her cleavage and she pushed into them, pulling off the damn boob tape so she could get to her nipple, rolling it between her fingers.

Fire coursed through her as she felt the oncoming wave of her orgasm. Just as she was about to come, she remembered something, eyes springing open and letting go of her hand from her breast, reaching around to her makeup bag and rummaging. She grinned, spying the object she’d tossed in, _just in case._ She flicked it on, the low hum alerting him to something else.

He gasped. “What’s that?”

“My travel sized Jon.”

“Oh fuck, you’re going to kill me,” he groaned. She knew he was almost close, she recognized the staccato of his breathing that indicated he was near his end.

She smirked. “You’re such a bad boy, doing this before our wedding. You’re filthy you know that? My Jon.”

”Yours.” He groaned, rasping. “Dany..what are you going to do about it?”

She took the bullet vibrator and ran it under her dress again, teasing up her thighs and then along her opening, her body shaking as it did what she intended it to do. She could barely speak. "It feels so good...not like you though." 

"Put it in." She whimpered; that would be too much, but he ordered. "Now, Dany." She groaned, slipping it inside of her, and almost yelped at the feeling. After a moment, with more whispered words in her ear about how fucking sexy she was, how he wanted to be inside of her, and wanted to touch her, she was almost there. Her head tossed about on her shoulders, back bowing towards the mirror and her toes gripping the edge of the bathtub. The vibrator's intensity was too much, as he groaned her name again and then she was gone, flying over the edge, a mere minute after she’d pressed it against her clit, the vibrations exploding through her. She gasped and groaned, his name a shout. “Jon!”

“Oh fuck Dany!”

They both almost dropped their phones; she actually might have, if she hadn’t caught it with her other hand, before it fell into the wrinkle of her dress bodice. She shook, chills shivering through her as her cunt pulsed with the aftershocks. “You alright?” she murmured, hearing his sighs as he came down from his high. She swore she heard his lighter flick.

“Hmm…I’ll be good now.”

She grinned. “I have to clean up now. Thanks a lot.”

“Just doing my husbandly duties.”

“One hour Jon Snow.”

“One hour Mrs. Snow.” He disconnected before she could say anything further. She grinned, hopping off the counter and adjusting her dress. She cleaned off the vibrator, throwing it into her bag again and reached with a damp cloth to clean herself as best she could, hoping she didn’t ruin the inside of her dress too much. There would be time for Jon to do that later.

After a few more minutes of reapplying some of her makeup, brushing the wrinkles from her dress’s skirt and then adding more boob tape, she blinked at herself in the mirror. Her hair might not be as completely smooth as it was, but oh well. Jon wouldn’t notice a thing. She picked up her phone, sending him one last text.

_The last wedding we went to went this way, didn’t it?_

He replied back. _Let’s keep up the tradition._

Tremors of excitement went down her spine at the prospect. This time they were the center of attention, so they might not be able to get away and hide like they’d been able to before, but the idea of him fingering her beneath the table again, with everyone watching… _hmmm…_ She really needed to stop before she got herself into trouble. She took a few more steadying breaths, cleared her mind, and nodded smartly.

The bathroom door swung inward and she stepped into the bedroom, stopping hard in her tracks. Missandei, Arya, and Yara were all grinning at her, in a knowing way, while Arya did shake her head, somewhat disgusted. “You both are freaks,” she announced.

“Don’t kink shame,” Yara chided.

Missandei sighed, but smiled, lifting her head. “So…what happened in there?”

Dany smiled at her best friend, accepting the bouquet that she passed over. “Many things,” she teased, wiggling her brows. She sniffed at the pretty red flowers in her hands, each one a different shade, but all brought together in a tasteful way, wrapped in a pretty black satin bow. She leaned her head in, both of them giggling. “Let’s just say Jon is feeling a bit more…relaxed.”

Her best friend chuckled. “You are so bad.”

“I know, we can’t help it.”

“Just like you asked, you both have thirty minutes after the ceremony to ah…” Missandei arched her brows again, her dark eyes dancing merrily. “ _Savor_ your newlywed status.”

“I owe you so much.”

“I intend to collect when Grey and I get married.”

“Oh you will.”

They left the suite, but not before Sansa tried one more time to convince her to allow the ice sculpture guy to go in and put up the giant wolf thing she’d commissioned. Dany didn’t even acknowledge her future sister/cousin-in-law, figuring that ignoring her now would make things easier for the future of her marriage. Jon did it all the time anyway.

It went uneventfully, for which she was grateful. She saw him in his military uniform at the end of the aisle, beneath the weirwood tree, as was custom in his religion. She stuck her tongue out at him when she got to the end and he stuck his out at her. Ned rolled his eyes. Since everyone in her family had died and all she had left was her elderly, blind Uncle Aemon, she gave herself away, because she was the one who had fought hard to be standing there to begin with.

Thankfully, unlike Sansa’s Faith of the Seven ceremony, the Old Gods ones were fast. Ned prounced them husband and wife, and before she knew it, Jon was kissing her, his warm and strong arms tight around her and sweeping her off her feet and around in a wide circle, her train dragging in the light fallen snow. She moaned into his mouth, savoring him for the first time all week like this. They’d only kissed as chastely as they could, so as not to break their agreement. _Stupid agreement._

Only when Ned cleared his throat loudly, did they finally break apart. She pressed her forehead to his, whispering. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he gasped, hands framing her face, kissing her again. People applauded, but they had no idea, she thought. No idea how hard it was for them to get to this point. She was still scared. Still worried he would change his mind, worried something would come along again. He was still struggling with the idea that he could actually _have_ this. They had come so far but they were still working towards a bigger future. Nothing conventional for them.

He took her cloak off, passing it to Robb, who was serving as his best man even though Jon’s real best man was his albino wolf hybrid Ghost, who was sitting patiently at his master’s side, looking rather annoyed that he had to wear a boy tie, but since he was the best boy, he behaved. Dany could see Sansa and Catelyn’s collective coronary at how there was a bride wearing a red wedding dress, a wolf as the best man, and no one giving her away. It gave her perverse pleasure.

After Jon wrapped the gray cloak with the Stark wolf on it, they moved beyond Ned, to where they knelt before the tree. She touched her fingers against the rough white bark, and she closed her eyes. She wasn’t religious at all, didn’t believe in anything really, but Jon had always been respective of his Old Gods, as dark as things could get in his life, he considered them the only constant for him. Whether they were real or not, he said. She thought if they were, she might as well pray, and hoped that whatever the future held for them, they could get through it together. _We are a mess you know, so you have your work cut out for you_ , she said in her head, opening her eyes and dropping her hand back to his.

He had finished already, smiling sideways. They got to their feet and finally turned, lifting joined hands up as everyone cheered. She grinned at Jon, leaning forward, whispering. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Fuck yeah.”

The photographer managed to get a few snaps of them in front of the tree, several different poses, but Missandei pretended to trip and twist her ankle, affording them the opportunity to escape. They giggled, running through the other side of the godswood and back to the castle, where Jon dragged her into the nearest room, which she briefly recognized as where they stored firewood. He flicked the lock on the door and turned around, his gray eyes black as night. He shook his head, growling. “You’re beautiful and I love that dress, but for the love of all the gods, take it off.”

Dany was already wiggling out of it, grinning. “As you wish husband.” She pulled it down over her waist, pointing to him. “And that tux needs to go.”

“Gone.”

By the time they got back to the reception, it wasn’t like anyone missed them. Sansa had decided to take that opportunity to announce she was pregnant, trying to steal their thunder, but Margaery, Robb’s wife was one step ahead of her, announcing her pregnancy with twins. Arya glared at them, shaking her head. “This sucks. They’ve taken all the glory!” She scowled. “Dany you have a stick in your hair.”

She plucked a twig out, smiling briefly. At least they weren’t the center of attention anymore. Jon agreed.

“Good,” he said, grabbing a sparkling water. He sighed, lifting his brows at Arya. “You’re next you know.”

“Oh hells no.”

“I’m talking to Gendry about his intentions.”

“Gendry’s intentions are none of your business.”

Dany picked up a sparkling water from the table, in solidarity with her sober husband. It wasn’t an entirely dry wedding, but she wasn’t going to let Jon worry. They were in this together. “Can you do us a favor Arya?”

“What’s that?”

“Get with Missandei, there’s a plan in place to distract everyone enough so that Jon and I can get out of here and celebrate properly.”

Arya’s mouth fell open. “I want to come!”

“You can, once you distract everyone.” Jon arched his brows, grinning. “Until then, the missus and I have somewhere to be before dinner.” 

Arya sighed. She shook her head. “How do you suggest I distract people?”

Jon looked around and then picked up a fork, tapping it against his glass. “Everyone can I have your attention?”

They all looked over, surprised that the groom was already starting toasts. Or speaking, for that matter, as Jon was not one for public anything. He smiled wide and gestured to his sister. “I want you all to join me in congratulating my little sister Arya Stark on her engagement to Gendry Baratheon!”

The fury in his sister’s eyes was enough to melt any ice sculpture that happened to be sitting in the middle of the room, despite their protests. Jon leaned in, speaking loud enough or Dany to hear. “I thank you for bailing on me at Sansa’s wedding, because otherwise I wouldn’t have ended up with Dany, but don’t think I didn’t forget. You’re on your own.” He let go and waved, grabbing hold of her hand and slipping out amongst the chaos, as even Gendry was sputtering.

She grinned, running down the hallway with him. “You are horrible.”

“I play a long game.”

“Is that what this is?” she teased, only slightly serious, rushing up the stairs towards his childhood bedroom, where she had fantasized about having him since they decided Winterfell would be the location for the wedding. She spun in his arms, tripping backwards down the hallway, her lips over his, whispering as she rubbed up against his hip, while he faltered a bit at her body sliding along his. “A long game?”

He shook his head, managing to get his door open and her inside. They fell back against it, unable to stop touching each other. “No,” he murmured. He broke away from her slightly, their breath mingling as they thread their fingers through each other’s, squeezing hard. She saw their matching wedding rings glint in the dim light coming through the windows, from the many lanterns that were scattered through the godswood and along the grounds. It was like out of a fairytale, she thought briefly. He sighed, smiling, rather loopy. “This was just…I don’t know. What do you call it?”

She pulled his face towards her, smiling warmly against his lips. “Just us,” she murmured, falling backwards onto the bed and dragging him over her and between her legs, their bodies molding together perfectly, as they always had, even when their minds were always somewhere else.

It was finally time that they were both in sync, Dany thought, as he moved slowly inside of her, their fingers linked and their breaths gasping together. _It’s always him_ , she thought, violet eyes meeting his gray ones. As terrifying as it was, as scared as she was, it was always him. And always her.

**fin.**


End file.
